


Stain

by lostonthisisland



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:23:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostonthisisland/pseuds/lostonthisisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Triggery Triggery Triggery</p>
    </blockquote>





	Stain

**Author's Note:**

> Triggery Triggery Triggery

Josh stares at the spot on his ceiling.

 

It's an ugly brown, medium sized stain.

 

Josh hates it.

 

|-/

 

Josh caught Tyler looking at himself in the mirror.

 

Not looking, judging.

 

"Ty?"

 

Tyler seemed to snap to attention, wrapping his arms around himself at looking at Josh, "Hm?"

 

"You okay?"

 

His nod was shaky and unconvincing.

 

"Want to go get some Taco Bell?"

 

"Sure." He smiled and Josh felt the tension around his heart ease.

 

|-/

 

Josh stares at the shattered remains of his bathroom mirror, the sad, jagged little pieces that still cling to the frame.

 

He'd cleaned up all the glass a long time ago.

 

He couldn't get himself to buy a new mirror.

 

|-/

 

Josh woke to the shaking figure in the bed next to him.

 

"Tyler?" He asked groggily, snapping on the bedside light, "What's wrong?"

 

Tyler's voice was thick with tears, "Nothing, Josh, go back to sleep."

 

"Hey," He said softly and pulled Tyler into his arms, "It's okay."

 

He rubbed his boyfriend's back and kissed the top of his head.

 

"You're gonna be alright, it's okay. I'm here, Ty."

 

He felt Tyler nod beneath his chin and Josh held him just a little bit tighter.

 

Just enough that if he shattered, Josh would be able to catch him.

 

|-/

 

Josh drags the step ladder into the bathroom, right between the toilet and the sink.

 

Right below that stupid, ugly stain.

 

He opens the paint can and balances it carefully on the porcelain of the sink before climbing the step ladder.

 

|-/

 

"Tyler! What did you do?"

 

Tyler was sitting on the lip of the bathtub, his wrists cradled in front of his chest.

 

There was blood everywhere. Stark against the white of the tub, against the white of his boyfriend's skin, against the gray shirt he was wearing.

 

Josh grabbed his cell and dialed 911 as fast as his fingers would allow him.

 

Tyler wasn't crying anymore.

 

His face was calm, vacant.

 

It terrified Josh.

 

|-/

 

Josh dips the paintbrush into the can and carefully raises it to the ceiling.

 

It's white. Everything in his bathroom is white.

 

He realizes as he starts to paint that the white isn't nearly as thick as he'd like it to be.

 

The stain is very visible beneath the white paint and Josh angrily stabs the brush into the paint can again and again and again.

 

|-/

 

After the incident in the bathroom, Tyler was put on medication.

 

Anti-depressants.

 

They make him better. Josh felt like he had Tyler back. They laughed and kissed and made love.

 

They went out to eat and hung out with friends and they were happy.

 

The fear that had wrapped itself around Josh's heart for the last year was finally starting to fade.

 

|-/

 

Josh sits slumped over on the closed lid of the toilet seat, white paint spilled in a giant puddle at his feet.

 

He cries into his hands, deep, howling sobs.

 

Above him, through fresh paint, there is a faint outline of an old stain.

 

Ugly brown and medium sized.

 

|-/

 

One day Josh had come home, arms full of groceries. He wanted to surprise his boyfriend with a home made meal.

 

"Tyler?" He called and got no answer.

 

Josh set the groceries on the kitchen table before walking down the hallway.

 

The bathroom door was open.

 

And Josh screamed.

 

Tyler was on the floor, his mouth was hanging open and it looked wrong.

 

Josh ran to his boyfriend, stepping on glass from the broken mirror, and picked him up in his arms.

 

He was cold and limp. There was blood in his hair.

 

Josh could see the roof of his mouth had been ripped apart.

 

A gun slipped from Tyler's fingers and clattered to the bathroom tile and an animal noise ripped from Josh as he rocked Tyler's still form in his arms.

 

It wasn't until after the paramedics took Tyler away, until after he'd given the police his report, until after his parents and his friends came to comfort him.

 

It wasn't until he was sitting alone in his bathroom thirty-six hours later that he looked up and he saw that ugly red stain and wondered just what he was going to do about it.

 

 

 


End file.
